


Genie in a Bottle

by MaskoftheRay



Category: The Witcher (Netflix), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 1 a.m. posting who-hoo!, Angst and Humor, Bathing/Washing, But intended as gen, Can be read as pre-slash, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Damnit I guess I'll write it myself!, Friendship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geralt's 1001 'hmms', Give some kudos to your author oh readers on A03 oOO, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, I blame Henry Cavill's sexy sexy Geralt for this entirely, I had to screw the timeline for this to work, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, LET GERALT BE SOFT 2020, Major Character Injury, No editing- we die like womne, Post-Episode: s01e03 Betrayer Moon, Post-Episode: s01e05 Bottled Appetites, Serious Injuries, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, TW: Blood, TW: cursing, Well OFF-SCREEN whump, Which Witcher is which- no seriously, first fic in this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Geralt of Rivia, as witchers are wont do, gets injured while fighting the striga. So when his overly-loyal bardand friendgets hurt as Geralt chases down a djinn, he feels responsible for making sure that Jaskier doesn’tdie.Unfortunately, he’s still not fully recovered from said battle with striga, and so isn’tentirelyprepared to face the wiles of one Yennefer of Vengerberg, mage extraordinaire. So it’s a good thing that Yennefer isnotactually as bad as she’d like to pretend she is, and that Jaskier reallyisas loyal as he seems.Or: I, too, have been bitten byThe Witcherbug, and I wanted to write some Geralt whump.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Renfri | Shrike (mentioned), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & injuries, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & magic
Comments: 6
Kudos: 216





	Genie in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> “If you wanna be with me  
> Baby, there’s a price to pay  
> I’m a genie in a bottle  
> You gotta ask me the right way”  
> —“Genie in a Bottle,” David Frank, Pamela Sheyne, Stephen Kipner, Dove Cameron
> 
> For ease of reading, pretend that the events of episode 3 happen directly before the events of episode 5 (at least for Geralt’s arc).

Somehow, he survived.

Geralt was no stranger to injuries— no stranger even to _serious_ injury, as evidenced by his numerous scars— but he hadn’t quite been able to imagine himself walking away from this latest hunt. A misguided rescue, some may have called it; Jaskier would have definitely labelled it as that. And then he would have _sung_ about it. So Geralt was very surprised, and disoriented, when he came awake at all. He was even more surprised to find himself in a place that most certainly _wasn’t_ the abandoned castle of King Foltest of Temeria.

As he sat up with a start, his senses sluggishly awakened, and the witcher realized where he was, and who he was with— Foltest’s mage, Triss Marigold. As more awareness returned, Geralt also noticed the unmistakable smell of healing herbs, and magic. He became cognizant, too, of the familiar— yet still potent— stink of monster blood, sweat, dirt, and _his_ own blood, which coated his body. With a grimace, Geralt lay back down, just as Triss turned from whatever it was she was concocting. This was a welcome distraction from his dizziness, soreness, aches, and _tiredness_.

“Who’s Renfri?” Triss asked. “Hers was the only name you uttered.”

Geralt started, then had to wrestle with his own face for a moment, so as not to give anything away. _Damn, but he hated being injured_. “No one. Give me my coin and I’ll be on my way.” With a slight inhalation, Geralt tried to force himself up. It was true, the sooner he got moving, the better. No one liked a witcher, and the longer he stuck around, the sooner the people of Temeria would have an opportunity to prove that adage true. Besides, he still had Roach to retrieve.

And when questions about the past appeared, Geralt of Rivia found it a wise policy to _disappear_.

He didn’t need mages seeing him injured, either. Even apparently helpful ones. But, there was still the issue of— “The princess?” Geralt swallowed, and he felt his already thready heartbeat speed up another notch. _Fuck_. He had a bad track record with princesses disguised as monsters. He hadn’t risked his life ~~again~~ just to nearly be killed _and_ fail ~~again~~. Geralt needed the coin too badly.

“She’ll heal. I sent her to recover with some trusted colleagues.”

Geralt grunted, and met Triss’ curious-but-wary gaze. “My coin.”

She didn’t sigh, but it seemed a close thing. “So that’s really all you witchers care about— monsters and coin.”

 _No_ , Geralt could have said, _I **care**_. He pictured the face of that other former princess from so long ago. He pictured the haunted, wild eyes of the ex-striga-now-unnamed Princess of Temeria. “Hmm,” he said, sitting up. Triss turned away, and when she faced him again, she had a full-looking bag of coins.

Geralt took his time opening it, checking his pay— it _wasn’t_ because he did not look forward to getting up— and when he saw that Foltest had returned Ren— _her_ broach, he had to swallow rapidly. The fire in his throat felt only too justified. With another grunt, Geralt slowly rose to his feet and ignored Triss’ subtle hovering. He’d gotten by on his own long enough. And he would do so again.

“My King has declared Lord Ostrit a hero, for killing the monster. The miners are already seeking ore for his statue.”

 _Why am I not surprised?_ “I see.” Geralt collected his things and left.

“You know you’re good at a great deal of things, Geralt, my friend. But I do not think fishing is one of them. What is it that you are searching for, exactly?”

“A djinn,” he grumbled. Though Geralt… welcomed Jaskier’s company, occasionally, he also _occasionally_ wished to bash the bard’s teeth in. _Hmm. That almost rhymed_.

“A… djinn? You mean like a genie?”

“Yes.” _Though a fucking great deal more dangerous_.

“Why, exactly? I mean, what could the great monster hunter, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, possibly—”

“I can’t fucking sleep!” Geralt snarled. Angrily, he cast the net into the pond again. _I can’t sleep, because all I see is her eyes. Watching me, as she died_. _I can’t sleep, because I see her, but I think of another princess whose fate I am tied to_.

Jaskier, uncharacteristically, fell silent. Geralt frowned at the pond, and listened to the sound of an empty net being dragged through the water. His neck throbbed, his cuts stuck to his clothing, and his bones ached. “Don’t you think that’s rather like… like putting ointment on a tumor— using a djinn to wish for sleep?”

 _Yes_. “No.” Truth be told, Geralt wasn’t sure what he had originally planned to do when he’d heard the local legend that this water contained a long-sealed genie in a bottle. He had simply felt the sudden, fierce desire to _find_ it. And do something with it. But now, Jaskier was here, and whatever Geralt’s plans may have been, they were for naught. _Perhaps it’s fate_. He snarled.

“…Geralt? Geralt, as your friend— yes, yes, I do know how that terrible word irks you so— I am… _concerned_. Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, if you _aren’t_ , I’m certain it’s nothing that a little ale, a nice bed, _a bath_ , and maybe some company of the fairer sex can’t heal, but—”

The sound of a full net caught Geralt’s attention, and he lost the thread of Jaskier’s statement again. _He’d found it. He’d found the djinn_. As he hauled his precious catch ashore, his mouth felt dry. _He didn’t even **have** to use all the wishes at once. If he kept it sealed, he could take his time deciding what it was he truly wanted_. _He could_ — “Is that it? Geralt? Is that the djinn?”

“Yes, Jaskier. That is the djinn.”

“Oh, how exciting! I’ll have to write a song. Yes, I can feel it! The lyrics are becoming clear to me! Geralt of Rivia, fished by the rivvveerr— but not for just any fffiiish! No, he wished to make a wish, so a djinn was what he so-ught—”

“Jaskier?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

“WHY I— GERALT! Do you not like my song?”

“Hmm. No. Your singing… It’s like—”

“WHAT, GERALT? WHAT _IS_ MY SINGING LIKE? DO TELL.”

Geralt nearly winced, at his sometimes-companion’s raised voice. It did nothing for his pounding headache. “Your singing is like a pie. With no filling.”

If he had been in a better mood, or less eager to release the djinn, or less injured, Geralt may have laughed at the way Jaskier’s eyes bulged out at his comment. “Why I never— that’s— that’s— YOU NEED A _NAP_!” Jaskier suddenly leapt forward and tugged on the djinn’s clay container.

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled, half-startled, half-angry. The bard had taken him by surprise, and the witcher was still weak enough for their confrontation to actually become a _struggle_. But Jaskier was either too worked up to pay heed to Geralt’s warning, or he was ignoring it, for the bard did not let go.

“Take that back! Take it back, Geralt, or I’ll—” Jaskier’s words died as the mage’s seal suddenly popped loose from the lid. He felt his teeth gnash and Geralt had to remind himself that the man before him would not survive being thrown full-force into a tree. _He’d **wanted** that djinn. Of anyone, Jaskier didn’t need the djinn like Geralt did_.

And now it was lost.

Yet, instead of saying something, or even bursting into song, Jaskier made a startled choking noise. Geralt, still looking down at his ~~crushed hopes~~ lost opportunity paid this no mind at first. But when one of Jaskier’s arms managed to smack him right over one of his not-fully-healed striga-inflicted wounds, he growled, and looked up, ready to give the bard a piece of his mind. What he saw instead made Geralt say, “Fuck.”

Jaskier’s eyes were, possibly, bulging out even more than earlier, and his throat was swelling, and looked distinctly purple. _That couldn’t be good_.

“Is there a doctor here!”

“Yes, we have an elf healer, Chireadan.”

“Take me to him. Quickly.” The man nodded, and Geralt steered Roach after him.

“H-here.” Geralt pulled sharply on the reins, dismounted with a grimace at the protest his still-weakened muscles made, and hauled Jaskier— still gurgling— into the white tent.

“A mage?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. This ailment is magical.”

“Where is he?”

“You’ll have to go to the next town. We don’t have a mage here.” Geralt growled in frustration, and tried to ignore the sudden dizziness that wanted to overwhelm him as he stood abruptly. The elf’s sharp eyes, no doubt, noticed this. “Witcher, are you quite sure you’re al—”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growled. “ _He’s_ the one who needs healing. Tell me where to find the mage.”

Yennefer of Vengerberg was not what Geralt had been expecting. At least, not what the witcher had been expecting, based off the town’s reputation. Jaskier’s pained groans may have had a bit of an additional cause, as they entered the… orgy-filled room. _My thoughts as well_. “I brought you apple juice.”

“Oh? Thank you, kind sir. I have never been brough apple juice by a witcher before. Tell me, what brings you here?”

Geralt nearly grimaced at the overwhelming scent of… of _mating_ and magic. He’d forgotten quite how _annoying_ mages could be. “The bard— he was struck by an angry djinn. He needs healing.”

“Hm. I can see that. What’s in—”

“Name your price. I’ll pay.” The words left Geralt’s lips before he could consider them rationally. He felt a brief flare of _panic_ at his open-ended promise. _But Jaskier was worth it. He’s all I have_.

“Your heartbeat, witcher— so slow. Tell me: is everything else they say about your kind true?”

“Save him, and I’ll anwser.” _Whatever the price, **save him**_.

“Take those off, and get in.”

“Is this your price?”

“No. But I can smell both the age and breed of your horse from _here_ , witcher.”

“Hmm. Very well.” Feeling slightly awkward, and more than a little wary, Geralt eased himself into the large bath. As the water rose past his shoulder, and hit the scabbed-over wound on his neck, the witcher couldn’t help the small hiss that escaped his lips. It was better than the contented groan that almost followed. _Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good bath_.

“That’s a nasty looking wound. What made it?”

“Striga,” he rumbled. Distantly, Geralt heard the rustle of clothing being removed. Then he felt the water being displaced as the mage entered the bath. Though Geralt knew he should be wary, he also couldn’t find the energy to care. He tipped his head back and flexed his shoulders, then set them on the edge of the bath.

The sound of displaced air, and the feel of disturbed water lapping at his chin made Geralt crack open one yellow eye. Yennefer had moved, and was now perched in front of him. He blinked, and made no move to alter his wary expression. Smirking slightly, Yennefer’s violet gaze met his. “Do you mind if I—” slowly, she reached forward, and grasped a lock of his hair.

Geralt tensed for a moment, and the mage went still. _But_ , he supposed, _she hasn’t attacked me yet. And if her curiosity— or whatever this was— were sated, perhaps her price would be lowered too_. “Go ahead.” He kept his eyes open long enough to see her smile. As the warm water sluiced over his head, Geralt closed his eyes again.

Of course, it _wasn’t_ as simple as payment taking the form of a nice bath, and conversation. As Geralt half-stumbled from the tub— now warmed and relaxed, without Jaskier to worry about, his exhaustion had taken hold— he noticed the sharp smell of Yennefer’s perfume. For some reason, it sent alarm bells clanging in his head. “Is… is that lilac and gooseberries?”

Yennefer smiled, and handed him a shirt. “I’m almost sorry it has to be this way. I _will_ try not to get you more injured, Geralt.” With that, her warm lips covered his, and Geralt blinked hazily.

He didn’t remember much after that.

“Witcher! Wake up.”

Geralt groaned, and tried sitting up. He felt weak as a kitten, his head throbbed, and his mouth was drier than cotton. “Fuck. What happened?” He looked over at his companion— the healer elf from earlier, Chireadan. On his second attempt, the witcher managed to sit up. He noticed that, apparently, he and his elf companion were in chains.

 _Something_ must have happened to cause him to wake up a prisoner. “The mage,” he growled.

“I tried to stop you! But you went on a rampage! The townsfolk thought _I_ was your accomplice, and now they’re going to kill you. _And_ me.”

Geralt snarled, and, with a sudden burst of wrath-fueled energy, attempted to break the chains. Nothing. He tried to summon magic, but nothing happened. Geralt swallowed, suddenly feeling ill.

“Witcher, are you sure you are well? Earlier, I was going to say something, but—” The elf’s statement was interrupted by the arrival of the guard whose path Geralt had crossed earlier. _Shit_.

“Funny ‘ow things work, innit? Jus’ earlier, you was beatin’ me up. An’ now look— I’s got the both of you right here. Tell me, Witcher, what’s the difference between your lot an’ a pile ‘o shit?” Geralt growled, and attempted to rise to his feet, but was hit in the face before he could make much progress. The elf hissed, and from the rattling sound, must have wanted to come to his aid. Nice of him. _Not that it’ll do me much good_.

As his would-be torturer prattled on, the witcher _did_ manage to stand. But he still couldn’t manage to free himself, as weakened and distracted by the lingering effects of the mage’s trickery as he was. The guard’s next strike caught him off balance, and Geralt stumbled back into the sturdy bars of the cell’s locked door. “Not so bad now, are you, Witcher?”

“Geralt!”

Ignoring the elf’s cry, he stumbled forward again. “I’m still plenty strong to take on the likes of you.” Geralt went to headbutt the man, and that was when he felt his not-nearly-healed-enough neck wound break open again. _Fuck_.

As Geralt felt his knees buckle, the last thing he saw was a strange, shimmering, round apparition come into existence behind Chireadan, and he heard the elf scream, “GERALT!” _It seemed that the old adage was true: no witcher ever died in their bed_.

“Geralt? Ger-alt… GERALT!”

“Hmm?”

“Oh good, you’re alive.”

“Fuck off, Jaskier.”

“Oh, you recognize me!”

“Fuck off, Jaskier!” Geralt growled. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and nearly leapt out of his skin at how close the bard’s face was to his own. Jaskier hastily moved away, and then Geralt was able to notice the rest of his surroundings. Namely that the bed he was lying in was far too nice to be in an inn. At least, in any inn _he_ could afford. Secondly, Jaskier was _awake_. And— Geralt inhaled deeply— the scent of magic was gone. Well. It was no longer mingled with Jaskier’s scent, at least.

He relaxed against the very fluffy pillow that’d been provided.

“How do you feel?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt frowned momentarily. _Like shit_. “Where are we?”

“In my bedroom.”

Jaskier jumped, and Geralt tensed. He felt his heart leap in his chest, and he snarled savagely, “ _You!_ ”

Yennefer had the decency to look slightly apologetic. “Yes, _me_.”

Geralt made to sit up again, but this time, Jaskier rushed forward, and placed a restraining hand on his chest. The witcher stilled, shocked at the unexpected, bold contact. “Don’t move, you idiot!” the bard exclaimed. Geralt grunted.

Ignoring Jaskier, he turned his oft-unnerving stare upon Yennefer. “Why am I here?”

She smiled, and all traces of remorsefulness vanished from her face. “Well, you nearly died. And it _was_ partly my fault. So I decided to help you recover.”

He gave her an unimpressed glare. “After you nearly destroyed my reputation, you mean.” Jaskier threw him a slightly-panicked look. Geralt ignored this, instead choosing to watch and attempt to catalogue the various emotions that flickered through the mage’s violet eyes.

“I suppose. Which is why you are here, and not **dead**.”

“Hmm.”

“If you’ll be patient a moment longer, Witcher, I’ll bring you some breakfast.” Yennefer met his eyes, and Geralt nodded. The mage turned, and gracefully left the room. Jaskier’s gaze darted after her, for a moment, and then he sat gently on the edge of Geralt’s bed. This set the witcher’s teeth on edge. He wasn’t used to being… _being_ _weak_.

“How are you, Jaskier?”

“Me? Oh- oh, I’m fine, Geralt— h-how are you?”

“Never been better.”

Jaskier laughed nervously. Then he sighed. He met Geralt’s coolly curious gaze. “You nearly died back there. When I woke up— Yennefer wanted my last wish, but we soon discovered that _I_ had never been the djinn’s master. You were. So, after some… negotiations, Yennefer agreed to rescue you. Guess you get your three wishes after all, Geralt.”

“I see.” Geralt blinked, suddenly tired. Jaskier noticed, because he started humming. It was, at least, something new.

“What was that?” the bard asked, suddenly ceasing his humming. _Fuck_. He’d said that aloud.

“Somethin’… new,” Geralt murmured.

“Oh? Oh, yes! It _is_ something new, Geralt. Thank you for noticing.” Jaskier sounded _pleased_ with himself. Geralt blinked slowly again, and Jaskier continued singing: “Yennefer of Vengerberg swore vengeance on Ger-alt, said she wanted more— a child to adore. So great Witcher be-wareee that mighty mage fair! She’ll… she’ll steal your haaaiirrrrr—”

“Hair? What’s that… got to do with it?”

“Oh, be quiet, witcher. Do you know how difficult it is to write a proper ballad?”

“Never tried.”

“Of course not. Go to sleep, Geralt.”

“Fine.” With that, Geralt closed his eyes, and— for once— listened to Jaskier’s advice.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the same song as the beginning quote. 
> 
> If you’re waiting on a prompt request— I’m sorry! But _The Witcher_ **literally** hit me over the head with a bat and kidnapped all my attention. I blame Henry Cavill’s face (and performance as Geralt) entirely. I will get to your request stories shortly; I just had to get this out first. 
> 
> I borrow or adapt some dialogue directly from the episodes. 
> 
> This is based SOLELY off the _Netflix_ series, as I’ve never played the games or read the books; I DO, however, intend to read the series when I have time. 
> 
> Yennefer may be nicer here than she is to Geralt during the actual episode. I am basing her actions off [redacted for spoilers] in the season. Also, I’ve never written anything for this fandom before, so be nice.


End file.
